Saving Ms Foster
by Artemis Day
Summary: If there's one thing Bucky Barnes knows, it's that this new guy in his sister's life is, to put it simply, not good. In fact, he's a fucking asshole piece of shit. And one of them might not survive this dinner party. At least the kids will have fun. Part six in the Ms. Foster series.


**A/N: Okay, so here's a fic two years in the making. Literally. I started this two years ago. Why didn't I finish it until now? Good question.**

 **Anyway, for those who read the first five parts of this series and don't remember everything that happened, here's a quick recap:**

 **-Jane is a grade school teacher with three super smart students, Hela, Fenrir, and Jormungandr.**

 **-They think Jane would be a perfect wife for their father, Loki, and Loki is interested in seeing if they're right.**

 **-So far, they've been on one date, which went... okay. Then Jane went to Loki's house and met some more of his family. Then she found some family of her own in the form of Bucky, her former foster brother.**

 **-Unbeknownst to her, Bucky and Loki have already encountered each other once before, when they almost got into a fight in the middle of a busy street.**

 **-Now that Jane and Bucky are reunited, what will happen when Bucky and Loki meet again? Find out now!**

* * *

They drove sixty miles an hour across a bridge over the freeway, around the corner where the commercial bank joined with the Pilates studio. Down the main road over that gaping pothole business owners wrote letters to the city about. He avoided all bumps and sharp turns that he knew of along the way. Normally, he would ride them all out for that momentary rush of adrenaline, but today he stayed on the straight and narrow, well below the speed limit. He even wore a helmet.

His spare left a cold patch on his right shoulder, seeping through his jacket and the shirt underneath. Its wearer clung to him as she ducked her head into his back. Her ironclad grip was impressive for someone with such skinny stick arms. He brought it up at the last red light and got a pinch on the wrist for his trouble. Her fingers were so tiny, he barely felt it.

Their final destination was unfamiliar to him (weird since his best friend had worked there for three years), but he knew these roads like the back of his hand. That and his bike's superior horsepower cut the driving time down by half. So if she freaked out every time a minivan got too close or nearly winded him when they made a turn, so be it. He got her where she needed to go.

They pulled up in front of the school, racing by a woman in a security vest. Though she shouted affronted words after them, he paid her no mind. Jane could talk to her later and explain that he wasn't just some crazy hooligan disturbing the peace.

"So, that only took…" he checked his watch, "ten minutes to get from your place to here. Aren't you glad I was around in your time of need?"

"I'd be gladder if my car didn't break down in the first place." Jane swung a leg over the side of the bike. She stumbled around a few steps like her entire lower half had been replaced with a bowl of jelly. He hid his face in the collar of his jacket so she wouldn't see him grin.

"You're very welcome, Jane. I'm just overwhelmed at how grateful you are to me for taking time out of my busy schedule to help you in your moment of need-"

"Thank you, Bucky." She reached up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "You're a lifesaver. You just need to invest in a station wagon."

Bucky feigned a look of horror. "A _station wagon_? Christ, Jane, it's like you want me to be a virgin forever."

"You're a virgin?"

"…fair enough, but I'm keeping the bike."

He walked her up the steps. The school was a long, one story building shaped like a rectangle. It displayed its name on the wall to the left. Big, three dimensional letters so intrusively placed and designed that they stayed in the side of his vision no matter which way he looked. Windows decorated with stickers and children's drawings lined up on each side. Bucky scanned the first few, looking for any kind of stars and planets motif that might tell him which one was Jane's. She was on her knees, sorting through the accordion file in her work bag, muttering to herself about last minute grading before class began. At the corner of each paper she thumbed through, Bucky caught hints of crude cursive lettering. Some were decent and intelligible. Others appeared to have been written with the student's toes rather than their fingers. Three of Jane's kids had better handwriting than he did.

"All right, I think I'm all set." Jane swung the bag over her shoulder. "Thanks again for the lift."

"Anytime," he said. "I'll be back at three to pick you up?"

"Better make it four. I'll probably have some paperwork to finish before I leave." Her wandering eye landed on his bike. "Are you absolutely sure you don't have a minivan somewhere in your garage?"

"I'll see you later, Jane."

Bucky watched her go up the stairs leading to the double doors. A few more teachers were already there. They waved to Jane as they passed, and she waved back. At the top step, her bag slid off her arm as she spun around with tears in her eyes. She jumped down to the bottom, where Bucky waited with open arms.

"I missed you so much!" She cried. "I thought about you all the time. If you were okay and if you were eating right and getting your homework done-"

"I know," Bucky said. "I missed you, too."

In his new home after the Fosters died, he used to kick himself constantly for never writing down her godfather's phone number. Or his address. Or his _name_.

"Don't ever disappear on me again!"

"No way."

"Or lose your phone so I can't get in touch with you."

"No way."

"Now would you _please_ go out and buy a car?"

"No. Way."

* * *

A normal day for James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes typically began one of two ways. He might wake up with a splitting headache and blurry vision after a night out with his friends. On mornings like this, he might also have bruises forming on his knuckles because some half-drunk idiot thought he could assert his masculinity by 'beating that pretty boy face in'. Once or twice, he was able to skip all that and go home with a gorgeous woman he met on the dance floor.

Most days, he woke up past noon after being in the office until the early morning hours. Being the owner meant going over all the books and making sure all the practice rifles, clay pigeons, and ammunition boxes were in their proper place before he locked up.

It gave him a weird sort of amusement whenever someone asked about his business, only to go pale when he told them. That was what he got for running a shooting range and gun shop in a primarily left-leaning area. Around here, if you owned even one gun everyone thought you were some kind of loose cannon nutcase one bad day away from a killing spree. Not that it was always like that. Pretty much every one night stand he'd ever had was because some women thought a man who could handle an AK-47 was the sexiest thing ever. If that was what pulled their chain, Bucky certainly wouldn't complain.

He'd tried to get Steve in on the action a few times. Whenever they went out together, there seemed to be a pretty even split between women who liked him and those who were entranced by how Steve looked in a form-fitting white T-shirt and leather jacket. Steve wasn't the 'casual sex' kind of guy, though. He was a romantic, and he was wasn't giving it up for any girl who wasn't 'The One'..

Now that he had found her, and Bucky didn't doubt for a second that Steve was already in love with Peggy Carter, it looked like he was going to need a new wingman. Maybe he'd talk to Sam. The guy was an ass, but he had charm.

That was the last thing on his mind right now anyway. Being reunited with the girl he once lived with and still considered family put everything else on the backburner. For the past week and a half, all his free time had been dedicated to Jane; getting reacquainted with her, seeing what she'd been doing, making sure he never lost track of her again because of something stupid like not writing down a phone number...

He was surprised to find that she wasn't a Ph.D. with a Nobel Prize yet. That was all Mr. Foster used to talk about whenever Jane brought home another A+. Sometimes, he wondered if Jane knew how much weight her father put in her abilities, how high his hopes for her were. From the way she scowled and refused to meet his eye as she described the important, life-changing scholarship she lost to some kid who dropped out in the second semester, he would guess that she did.

But he didn't disparage her being a grade school teacher. It was actually a pretty good fit for her. She'd nagged him about shirking on his homework so many times when they were kids, why shouldn't she get paid to do it as an adult?

And really, anyone who treated her as lesser for her work, family or otherwise, was an asshole. Not that he believed Mr. Foster would have done that. Had he been around, Bucky was sure Jane would never have lost that scholarship in the first place, but that was another story.

The new work day started with Bucky in his office: taking down messages, going over quarterly statements, trying and failing to ignore the obnoxious voice of his employee outside. Same old, same old.

It took ten minutes for the noise to get on his nerves enough that he slammed his hands on the desk and knocked his chair aside getting up. He muttered curses as he stormed into the supply room. The door was ajar. If they'd been open right now, anyone and their mother could walk in and sneak something, a possibility that didn't seem to matter to the man inside. He wielded a wooden practice rifle, aiming dramatically at the air.

"Here comes Star Lord to save the day! Hold it right there, alien scum!" He imitated rapid machine gun fire, pointing the practice rifle at an empty ammo box, at the raccoon sitting on a shelf eating some nuts, to Bucky's face. "Uh-oh, Rocket. Looks like trouble has arrived in the form of… the dreaded Winter Soldier!"

He gave a long, exaggerated gasp. Bucky was... less than amused.

"Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah, because sometimes, when you're mad at me, you get this look on your face that reminds me of the time I got locked out of my house without my coat in the middle of January and I almost froze. So that makes you the Winter Soldier. Cool, right?"

"Oh yeah, very cool," Bucky said, walking around the room and taking in the disturbed row of wooden rifles. "You know what would be even cooler? If you actually did the work I pay you to do instead of goofing off constantly. Did you even start taking inventory in here yet, Quill?"

"I'm getting to that," Peter Quill said. "I swear, you nag more than my wife. Can't a guy finish his lunch break in peace?"

"Your lunch break isn't for another three hours, and in case you didn't know, lunch break means you sit down and you eat your lunch. It doesn't mean playing with the merchandise like a two-year-old."

"We're selling the practice rifles now?"

"Don't get cute. Just do your job, Quill."

Bucky walked out to the sound of Quill 'discreetly' mocking him. " _'Just do your job, Quill. Do your job, Quill.'_ Geez, Rocket, do you think he could get that stick any further up his ass?"

There came a hiss like the raccoon actually knew what Quill was talking about and how to answer him. Bucky rolled his eyes, not understanding in the slightest why Quill always insisted on bringing his pet raccoon to work with him (or why anyone would have a pet raccoon in the first place).

At half past nine, Bucky finished all the day's paperwork and was ready to open up shop. So long as no one was fooling around, everything would run smoothly. As if on cue, Quill knocked on the door and let himself in, clipboard in hand with the raccoon trailing faithfully at his feet. "Finished the inventory, boss!"

Bucky took the clipboard, skimmed the first page and all the little checked off boxes and notes, and then tossed it on the desk. "Great, now go do the other closet."

Quill's shoulders slumped, and if he didn't know any better, Bucky would swear he heard a sigh coming from the raccoon. "Am I ever going to get to do anything around here other than count clay pigeons?"

"That depends," said Bucky. "Are you ever going to stop playing with dangerous weapons like they're toys?"

"Hey, I never use the real guns, and I'm offended that you would imply such," Quill said, folding his arms in a huff. "I'm not a moron."

"That's debatable."

Signing off on one more email, Bucky closed out his account page and returned to his desktop. He pulled out the recently repaired 9mm pistol he'd been cleaning. He turned his swivel chair around to face the back wall, a motion which, to most people, would indicate that the conversation was over and it was time to go back to being a good employee who did his work without having to be asked four times. Peter Quill, unfortunately, was not most people.

"I see you've been having fun lately." A sideways glance revealed Quill had taken to eyeing Bucky's new desktop image, the one of him and Jane having breakfast at IHOP. "Found yourself a sexy little number, eh boss? I approve. She's hot."

"She's my sister."

Bucky opened the empty barrel of the gun and started to reload as Quill blanched.

"Oh," he said weakly. "That was a really stupid thing for me to say while you're holding a gun."

"Yup."

"I think I'll go finish that inventory now."

"Good call."

He closed the chamber as Quill's steps faded away, then aim at the target board taped to the wall.

"Dumbass."

* * *

If there was one thing Bucky loved about his bike (and there were a lot of things he loved about his bike), it was the sense of freedom that came from driving with the wind in his hair and the sun at his back. After days spent cooped up in the office, it was the very best way to get the cobwebs out of his head. Jane could (and would) lecture him all she wanted about proper helmet safety, but there were some things Bucky just couldn't let go of from his teenage years, and this was one of them.

"How can I be so cruel as to hide this face behind a helmet?" he asked her during movie night as his apartment.

"It would be even worse if you smashed up your face because you didn't wear one," Jane countered, and though she was right, she still got a wad of popcorn to the face.

At the end of a long day, Bucky raced across the overpass, swerving around slow cars and keeping time with the fast ones. Several people honked at him as he passed, but that was par the course for this section of highway.

At the next light, he checked his watch. The hour hand was just past six, giving him ample time to get where he needed to go. Bucky revved the engine and waited with fast waning patience for the light to turn green. He always hated this intersection. The traffic light made snails look fast. A full three minutes later and the damn thing was still red.

To pass the time, Bucky took to watching the cars in the opposite lane. Sometimes, there'd be an interesting sight, like a woman putting her feet up to paint her toenails or a fat guy with a veiny neck screaming into his phone. It never kept his attention for long, but it was better than his old game of trying to force the light to turn green with non-existent psychic powers. All that ever got him was a migraine.

The car on his right was a minivan driven by a harried looking middle aged woman with a bush of brown hair and thick glasses. She was shouting at her kids in the backseat as they fought over a toy. To the left was a Jaguar, one of the few cars Bucky could recognize from sight alone. It was the kind of thing he'd probably be able to afford if he gave up his life savings and donated a kidney, but it wasn't his kind of ride anyway. If he ever did get a car, he'd go for something a little less flashy, like a stretch limousine.

That, however, wasn't why Bucky lingered on the sleek black vehicle for so long. The second he laid eyes on it, he was struck by deja vu, mixed with, oddly, frustration and ire. None of it made sense to him until he caught sight of the man in the driver's seat, his slicked back hair, tailored business suit, and a face that he figured women would like before they found out the man behind it was a total fucking asshole.

Yes, Bucky remembered this guy well. His old friend, the suit.

He didn't have his stupid bluetooth in this time, so when he happened to look in Bucky's direction, it took only a second longer for recognition to set it. There was a split second where his eyes were wide as saucers, and then they were narrowed to slits. He glared at Bucky with such intensity that if anyone else in the world had been on the receiving end, they would've caught fire and died on the spot.

Bucky smiled and waved.

He engaged in a lengthy stare down with the suit. His back windows were tinted, but at one point, Bucky saw a tiny hand stretch into view, tapping the suit on the shoulder. He turned his head ever so slightly and spoke words Bucky couldn't make out.

The light finally turned green. The car behind him honked its horn, and Bucky pressed down on the pedal, zooming off like lightning. He left behind a smirk and a one fingered salute for the suit.

If there was any justice in the world, that would be the last Bucky ever saw of that guy.

* * *

Jane answered the door on the first knock. "Bucky!" She said, standing up straighter. "What are you doing here?"

He picked her up into another bear hug. Her feet dangled and she squealed happily as he squeezed her. "You are way too skinny, you know that? Look at this, it's like I'm holding a hundred pound bag of feathers."

"There is literally no weight difference between the two." She squirmed a bit, but Bucky wasn't ready to let go yet. "You're just crazy strong. Speaking of which, I'd like to breathe sometime today."

"If you can talk fine, you can breathe fine," Bucky countered, but he still let her go.

She rubbed her back and went to the kitchen. A pot boiling on the stove smelled like Mrs. Foster's cooking. One of her old battered cookbooks was on the counter, open to a Swedish meatball recipe. Pasta cooked next to the pot, an unopened can of tomato sauce waiting by the cookbook. Jane pulled a mixing bowl out of the cupboard, dislodging one of the many plastic containers crammed inside. It would've bonked Jane in the head had Bucky not been there to catch it.

"You cook now?" he asked.

"If you call spaghetti and bagged salad cooking."

"Meatballs is cooking."

"Meatballs are about the only thing I can do right in the kitchen." Jane pulled a bag of lettuce and chopped carrots out of the fridge. "I don't think I'll ever be the cook Mom was."

"Hey, practice makes perfect." He grinned as Jane rolled her eyes and added a dab of dressing to the salad. She set it aside and checked the pasta. She muttered to herself what sounded like 'so far so good' and then checked the meatballs. "So… are you expecting someone?"

She was quiet for a long time. "I'm having a few friends over. I wanted to give them something nice that they're probably not used to."

"Fast food people?"

"More like caviar and haute cuisine." The oven dinged and Jane wrapped a dish towel around her hand before pulling the pot off the stove. She took off the lid, revealing lumpy brown meatballs swimming in a sea of red.

"Did you remember the pinch of cayenne?" Bucky asked.

"What kind of monster do you take me for?" She tried to walk past, but Bucky grabbed her into another hug. "Knock it off! This is what Dad used to do."

"I know." He tickled her sides, also like Mr. Foster used to do. Jane giggled and squirmed and eventually got herself free. "So tell me about these rich folks of yours."

She hesitated, wearing a look that said plainly, _'I don't want to say what I'm thinking about saying.'_ "Well…"

The door slammed open. Jane yelped and jumped aside, narrowly avoiding the brown-haired, bespectacled missile sliding in on its knees.

"I'M TOO HOT!" the girl scream-sang.

"Hot damn!" said Bucky.

He recognized her as Jane's friend from movie day. Darcy, if he remembered correctly. She looked a lot less put together this time like she'd gotten out of bed five minutes ago after sleeping in yesterday's clothes. She blinked at him a few times, and her eyes, while not completely bloodshot, weren't what he would call focused either.

"Hey, I know you," she said, pointing at his chest. "Jane, do I know him?"

Judging by Jane's total lack of a reaction, this was a common occurrence. "This is Bucky, Darcy. My brother. You met him last week, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she said, stumbling to her feet. "You're Jane's sexy brother. Nice to see you again, sexy brother."

She stuck out a hand. There were some chocolate stains on her fingers but luckily her palm wasn't sticky. She pulled his arm half out of its socket and then let go abruptly, skipping over to Jane to manhandle her next.

"You're in a good mood today," Jane said.

"I just ate a one pound chocolate bar all by myself! Might be a little sugar high!" She danced around the kitchen. "I was like, 'fuck trying to stay thin. Chocolate is the best thing ever!' Not like Ian's gonna care, and even if he did, who cares? I'll tell you who _doesn't_ care. Jane, wanna guess who doesn't care?"

"...Is it you?"

"DING DING!"

Darcy attempted a cartwheel. She couldn't quite manage it and ending up tumbling into the living room on her butt. It hardly deterred her, and as soon as she was on her feet, she was back to belting out Uptown Funk in the most tone deaf voice possible.

"Break up," Jane whispered to Bucky. "She's not over it."

"Ah," he nodded.

As the energy faded, Darcy let herself fall backwards. She was sprawled out on the carpet, her head poking into the kitchen. "So Jane, when's Moneybags showing up?"

"Another twenty minutes, which should give me just enough time to finish up."

She put her oven mitts aside and opened another cabinet full of plates and bowls. Bucky followed her. "So… who is this guy?"

A beat passed and then she remembered what they'd been talking about. "Well, his name is Loki, his kids are in my class, and they got it in their heads that the two of us would be a good couple. So now-"

"Jane's gonna marry a rich guy!"

"Darcy, shut up! I'm not marrying anyone." Jane took a deep, calming breath. "Anyway, we've met a couple of times now, and a few weeks ago, I accidentally crashed a party at his… house, so I thought I should return the favor and treat them to dinner."

"And then they're gonna have sex!"

"Darcy!"

"Hang on a second," Bucky placed himself between the two women. "This guy's kids are trying to hook him up with you, and he's _going along with it?"_

"Apparently, he agrees with them," Jane said, her shoulders slumped. "And well… let's just say I know where they get their tenacity from. My whole life has been upside down since I met them!"

"It can't be _that_ bad."

The front door opened _again,_ and a forty something man in a suit stepped inside. Bucky assessed him, noting the firearms on his belt and strapped to his thigh. "Ms. Foster, I just received word from Mr. Odinson that he'll be arriving with the children in just under ten minutes."

"Thanks Agent Coulson," Jane said, squeezing out from behind Bucky's broad frame.

"Jane," Bucky hissed out the corner of his mouth. "Who the hell is _this?_ "

"My new bodyguard," she said with a resigned sigh. "Courtesy of Loki."

Coulson had already excused himself after a requisite nod in Bucky's direction. Bucky tore after him. "Hey! Wait a minute, get back here!"

After examining Coulson's weapons and grilling him on his credentials, Bucky was satisfied enough to leave him to his post. He returned to find Jane pushing her kitchen table out of the kitchen to connect with the longer dining room table. She struggled with the heavy wood, and multiple times it snagged on the carpet. Bucky picked it up and carried it the rest of the way, Jane sulking behind him.

"So this Loki guy must be really into you if he's doing all this," Bucky said. He ran through all the details again. A billionaire with the assets to hire professional watchdogs, who probably ran some kind of company and wasn't used to not getting what he wanted. "Just promise me he's not the Fifty Shades guy."

Jane slapped a hand over her face as Darcy yelled in triumph. "That's exactly what I said!"

"I hate you both," Jane moaned.

She went to check on the spaghetti. It must have been done because she took the pot off the stove fast enough to almost splash boiling water on her face. Bucky raced over, arms outstretched, but Jane successfully placed it on the counter next to the meatballs.

"You've got a meal fit for a king here," said Bucky.

Jane pulled seven plates out of the open cabinet and shoved them in his arms. "Go set the table please."

"Why can't Darcy do it?"

"I don't trust her with anything fragile."

"I heard that," Darcy shouted from the floor.

Jane placed a number of forks and knives on the top plate, but she spared him the glasses for now. "If you want to stay for dinner, you're going to have to work for it. Just like old times."

"Whatever you say, _Mom_."

He put the plates and silverware in what he assumed was the 'proper' dining order. The only rule he knew off the top of his head was 'fork on the left', so he put the knife on the right and congratulated himself on a job well done. A quick trip to the bathroom had him passing the large window on Jane's far wall that looked out onto the parking lot. His bike was parked under the shade of a maple tree. He noted the excellent vantage point and the thick leaves jutting from sturdy branches. If he didn't like this Loki guy, it would be easy to conceal himself and his sniper rifle under a camouflage tarp. He'd call up Jane to get her out of the apartment, wait for him to walk past the window and…

But no, he couldn't shoot a man in front of his kids. He'd left everything but his sidearm at home anyway, and that little popgun had nothing even remotely resembling a scope.

A fancy looking car pulled into the parking lot, but it disappeared under an awning too fast for Bucky to see. A flash of the hood was all he got. Black and shiny, with a customized body; not a limo, but it might as well have been. Wherever it parked, it was out of Bucky's view. He never saw them enter the building, but he heard the elevator as it let them off on the third floor. Then he heard three small voices, two male and one female, shouting over each other and barreling down the hall with all the energy one would expect from eight year olds.

They banged on the door with tiny fists. "Ms. Foster, we're here!" the girl shouted.

"Coming!" Jane hurried to let them in.

The first thing Bucky saw was a trio of black heads running around Jane's legs. The next was a shadow, long and thin and overwhelming in an a terribly familiar evil.

"Hello, Jane," said the only voice that had ever on it's own incited Bucky to violence. "It's so wonderful to see you again."

His hand engulfed her's up to the wrist. His sickly green eyes trailed over her body like he was imagining her naked. That was all Bucky could take without giving into his baser instincts. They were baying for blood. _His_ blood. That vampire looking fuck feeling Jane up and undressing her with his eyes like he owned her.

Bucky stomped out of the bathroom, his fists clenched. Loki's ears perked up and he raised his head. The ensuing staredown was the stuff of legends. The kind of think storytellers of old would've likened to a battle between demons. Someday, those kids would be telling their kids about it.

"Loki, I want you to meet my brother, Bucky," said Jane, for the moment oblivious. "He's going to be joining us tonight if that's okay."

Bucky barely heard her. He doubted Loki had either. All they could see right now was each other, murder in their eyes and venom on their lips as they spoke.

"Hello, _Suit_ ," said Bucky.

"Hello, _Imbecile_ ," said Loki.

"Oh _no_ ," said Jane.

* * *

Even with two extra heads at the table, there was plenty of food to go around. Jane, it seemed, had inherited her mother's tendency to overshoot. Bucky distinctly recalled several times getting a mountain of pasta on his plate because Mrs. Foster decided to cook the entire box all at once. He wasn't quite having that problem today, but despite skipping breakfast this morning, he couldn't get more than two bites of spaghetti down. He started on the meatballs, which were good if a little soft for his liking. Maybe he would've enjoyed them more if there wasn't a smarmy British fuckhead sitting across from him.

He was proud to say he hadn't blinked once since they sat down. His eyes stung, but Bucky wasn't giving in before Loki did. It would've been easy to write him off as an upper class pansy who'd never lifted a finger to work in his life. Bucky knew the type. They came to his shooting range every so often with a swagger in their step, thinking they were experts even though most of them had never held a gun before in their lives. The end results weren't hard to guess.

Somehow, he didn't think Loki would have the same problem. He was richer than all those kids combined, but his stance reminded Bucky more of a seasoned soldier. If someone put a gun in his hand, he might very well know how to use it. He wouldn't cry crocodile tears and threaten to call his daddy's lawyer if he didn't. (He'd have his own lawyers.)

The children ate heartily, if very neatly. Napkins folded in their laps, cutting small bites of meatball and chewing with their mouths closed. The one time Loki broke eye contact with Bucky, it was to reprimand the bigger boy for getting sauce on his fingers.

"We eat pasta with a fork, Fenrir," he said.

"It was gonna fall off my plate," the kid objected.

"Then you pick it up with a napkin and put it in the garbage. We are guests in Ms. Foster's home, so remember your manners."

"Yes, Dad."

The rest of the dining room chit-chat came from Darcy telling an inane story about that ex of hers. Loki's daughter, Hela he believed, was enthralled by the epic tale. Her dinner abandoned, she inched her chair closer to Darcy, as if she wanted to soak in every single word.

"So after Ian took me to the concert and I nearly lost my favorite shoes in the moshpit, we go back to his place and I find out he tried to make me a birthday cake instead of just buying one."

"How romantic," Hela squealed, her eyes bright and starry.

"Would've been if he hadn't used strawberries," Darcy huffed. "I'm highly allergic, and somehow after _seven months_ of dating, he didn't know that!"

"Did you ever tell him?" asked Jormungandr.

Darcy froze, like the thought had never occurred to her. "Well, no… but he should've asked!"

"I think he sounds nice," said Hela. "Like a shojo hero!"

"Show Joe whatnow?" Darcy asked.

"That's what they call her girl comics," said Fenrir through a mouthful of food. Loki tapped him on the head with a spoon.

Hela scowled. "I told you to stop calling it that!"

"So, how does everyone like their dinner?" Jane shouted with forced cheer.

"It's really good, Ms. Foster," said Jormungandr. He'd polished off half his plate in three bites and the rest was nearly demolished as well.

"Yes, you are quite the chef, Jane," said Loki. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, even though there wasn't a trace of sauce on his lips. He was as perfectly pristine as ever because of course he was. "Our staff at home would be jealous."

"That means the world to me coming from you," Jane deadpanned.

The two shared a look. It was easy to pick out Loki's smug superiority, but Jane was harder to read. Bucky got the feeling conversations between them went in this direction more often than not.

"So, Mr. Barnes," Loki said as he spun a tiny ball of spaghetti around his fork. "I understand you have your own business."

 _'What's it to you?'_ he thought and almost said. It was Jane's pleading eyes and the curious gazes of the children that stopped him. Like it or not, he did love Jane more than anything, and they were pretty cute kids despite their questionable genepool. With all his considerable strength, he worked his mouth into something vaguely resembling pleasant. "I run a shooting range and a gun shop just outside of town."

"How fascinating," Loki said, wearing a phony grin of his own. He had too many teeth, Bucky noticed. Maybe he should help with that. "Good money?"

"Well, I don't have ten cars or a private island, but I do well for myself. I'll never have to worry about making rent."

"Impressive," said Loki. "In this middling economy, you must've struggled endlessly to earn such a moderate living."

 _"Loki…"_ Jane said through her teeth.

"It wasn't hard at all," Bucky's grin grew bigger and faker as his rage threatened to break. "I may not have been born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I did learn the value of _working_ to get what I want."

 _"Bucky…"_

"Yes, and I can see the fruits of your labors in that layer of dirt under your fingernails and that little bit of premature wrinkling around your eyes. If you don't mind me saying."

"Not at all, and if you don't mind _me_ saying, I can see how well you've spent your money in those shiny white teeth and that perfect nose of yours. The surgeon did a fantastic job."

Loki stood up. So did Bucky.

"I was in fact far too busy building a business empire up from the ground to worry about that," Loki said.

"That must've been back when I was 20 and 0 as a college boxing and MMA champion."

"No no that would've been while I was earning my third master's degree and heading the university fencing club."

"Unless it was around the time I was learning how to handle every firearm known to man."

"Jane, I don't mean to scare you," Darcy leaned over the table, using Fenrir's head as leverage, "but I think your boyfriend and your brother are going to eat each other."

Jane rubbed her temples, groaning in apparent pain. In his right mind, Bucky would've immediately checked her over to make sure she was okay, apologizing left and right for upsetting her. He would still do that, of course. He just needed to kill someone first.

"It's much more efficient to learn long range shooting when one has a multitude of privately owned land at their disposal, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Barnes?"

"Sure, but I think getting the proper tools is much more important. That's why I own thirty seven guns and six grenade launchers, _Mr. Odinson_."

"I am certainly much taller than you, _Mr. Barnes_."

"I am certainly much stronger than you, _Mr. Odinson_."

"On the contrary, having a more developed musculature does not automatically equate to a greater difference in brute strength, _Mr. Barnes_.

"It does when you have the training to back it up, _Mr. Odinson_."

"Okay!" Darcy shouted, getting up abruptly. "I'm gonna go grab some rulers from Jane's office so you guys can settle this once and for all." She scurried out of the dining room, first grabbing all the knives off the table and depositing them in the sink. Probably a smart move.

It was hard to say how Jane was reacting to all this, as she had yet to move from her seat and that put her well out of Bucky's line of sight. He could see the three kids leaning forward to watch. This must've been great entertainment for them, but if it did come down to a brawl, he hoped they wouldn't be too disappointed when he sent their dad's bony ass into the stratosphere.

Except then Jane stood and the look on her face made it clear they'd _both_ be going into the stratosphere if they weren't careful.

"So it's been fun watching you two set a good example for the children," she stabbed them both through the skull with a piercing death glare, "but I need some coffee. If you don't think you can get along for sixty seconds, maybe one of you could help me?"

Bucky dashed around the table, but Loki was simply closer. He stepped backwards into the kitchen after her, smiling at Bucky and taking a bow. For once, he was completely justified in his cocky behavior. He'd just achieved a most remarkable feat. He was now, officially, the most punchable human being James Buchanan Barnes had ever met in his life.

And he'd met many, _many_ punchable people.

Only the kids remained at the table, poking at their dinner now that the show was over. Fenrir finished first, taking enormous bites now that no one was around to stop him. He would regret _that_ in a few hours. Bucky forced down the rest of his spaghetti, chewing louder than necessary to drown out the mental image of Loki creeping around Jane, running his fingers down her back, bending her over the counter to-

"So you're Ms. Foster's brother?"

"What?" Bucky said stupidly. A male voice snickered, but Hela had no time to reprimand her brother. She stared intently at Bucky with her large green eyes. "Oh, yeah. Technically we were foster siblings, but yeah, I guess."

"I wanted to ask why her parents didn't adopt you," Jormungandr piped in, "but that would be intrusive and insensitive, so I won't."

"That's very considerate of you," said Bucky.

"Our dad was going to beat you up," Fenrir gloated.

Bucky's eye twitched.

"Don't worry about them, they're just being dumb," said Hela. "I know my daddy. He definitely would've gone easy on you."

Bucky's eye twitched harder.

"Anyway, since you're Ms. Foster's brother, should we call you Uncle Bucky?" asked Jormungandr.

There were a boatload of horrible implications in that question, but before Bucky could voice them, Loki shouted:.

"Mr. Barnes would prefer that you didn't, I'm sure."

"Would it bother you?" Bucky shouted at him.

"To a degree," Loki muttered. He returned with Jane, each holding a mug. Jane had two and she placed one in front of Bucky.

"I understand," he said. He drank his coffee down and clapped his hands together. "Okay, kids, how about some quality time with your Uncle Bucky?"

They followed him into the living room. Bucky looked back once to relish in the malice Loki was unable to hide behind his holier than thou indifference. _'Suck on it assclown. Everyone here likes me better.'_

The living room connected to the kitchen by a small step down It gave the place a cozy feel, like a private nook, even though no dividing wall existed. Jane's TV was on to a smooth jazz channel. Jormungandr turned it up a notch and sat in front of the coffee table. He was just small enough to fit his legs underneath. From his back pocket came a deck of playing cards, held together by a rubber band and curled at the corners from frequent shuffling. His siblings crowded around as he dealt them in. With nothing else to do besides watch Loki flirt with Jane, Bucky pulled up a footstool. "What are we playing?"

"Go fish," said Hela. "It's the only game Daddy will teach us."

"I already learned Blackjack on the internet," Fenrir hissed out the corner of his mouth. "I could play your ass off."

"Shouldn't be using that kind of language, kid," Bucky said, examining his cards.

"Eat me."

The first two games were uneventful, other than Bucky's total lack of anything resembling good luck. The last time he played this game, he would've been even younger than these three, and they leapt on his inexperience like starving dogs on a fresh lump of meat. Whenever he did gain an upper hand, he caught fragments of Jane and Loki's conversation.

"...tomorrow at the Pearl Club?"

"Are you kidding? ... a school night and… busy!"

"...cleared my schedule… going soon…"

"Yeah, sure… what kind of party is that?"

"You could come with us."

With Hela and Fenrir arguing over a pair of threes, it was hard to hear anything else. Yet somehow, he could still catch every change of inflection when Loki said Jane's name. He said it like it a vulgar promise of sordid actions to come. At this point, the sharp pain in Bucky's palms was the only thing grounding him to reality. He relaxed his fists, leaving purple nail marks behind.

"So, what's the deal with your dad and my sister?" The question silenced Hela and Fenrir. Jormungandr gave him a look of the purest gratitude.

"Oh, they're going to get married," said Fenrir casually. "Didn't you know?"

"What makes you think that?" Bucky asked, looking down at cards he couldn't read anymore. "I didn't see a ring."

"They haven't gotten there yet. They only met a few weeks ago," said Hela. "We're working on it, though. Pretty soon, Ms. Foster will be our new mother!"

Bucky's eye twitched hard enough to pop a blood vessel. "You know, she might not want to marry your dad. She might just want to be friends."

"Nah, they're definitely gonna hook up." Fenrir glared at him and Bucky glared back.

"I don't think so," he said through his teeth.

"Too bad, because they will."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will."

"Yes, they will."

"Nice try, buddy," Fenrir grinned evilly, "But I'm not Daffy Duck and you're definitely no Bugs."

Bucky pursed his lips. "Well, aren't you a wascally wabbit."

The next game ended shortly thereafter with Jormungandr as the self-proclaimed grand champion of Go Fish. While he added his own fanfare, Hela went for the remote.

"Ms. Foster, is it okay if I play some different music?" She raced through the hip hop and rap stations.

"As long as it's nothing loud," Jane answered. "Bucky, if you want more coffee, feel free."

"Thanks, I'm good." _'Was that code for something? Does she want me to come sit back down so she's not alone with him anymore? Is she actually fine and telling me that I don't have to worry? Did she just mean that I can have more coffee if I want it and I'm a paranoid tool for asking all these questions? Is she-'_

The cheerful first notes of a pop song Bucky always changed the station on started playing. Hela squealed. "Yay! It's the Happy song!"

As the singer repeatedly informed the listener of how happy he was and demanded that they 'clap along' with him, the children danced and jumped around. Even Fenrir was getting into it, tapping his foot and humming along until Hela decided that wasn't good enough. She dragged him along, Jormungandr turning up the volume to drown out his complaints. It didn't work quite as well on their father. Bucky could still hear him just fine.

"This song is the bane of my existence," he grumbled to Jane. "Every time it comes on, I must endure the endless repetition again. You haven't the faintest idea."

"Is that Happy?" Darcy burst out of Jane's office, because apparently she was incapable of opening doors like a normal person. "I love this song!"

She scooped up Jormungandr and spun him around, singing loud, off-key lyrics that didn't match the song at all.

"Trust me, Loki, I do," said Jane.

Darcy dropped Jormungandr at the bridge and he landed on his feet. He started into an odd combination of break dancing and disco that couldn't be good on his knees and was probably made up on the fly. Fenrir and Hela joined him, not so much in dancing as in their own bizarre interpretations of the concept. Bucky would've happily remained a wallflower, his hands shoved in his pockets as he kind of bobbed his head a little, but then Darcy shimmied over to the couch and hauled him to his feet with more strength than muscle-less body should reasonably possess.

"Come on, hot stuff, dance!"

The last thing Bucky wanted to do was dance, but before he could escape, Darcy was on him, like an anaconda trapping a helpless animal in its clutches. By the next verse she was leading him in a messy sort of waltz, knocking into the coffee table once or twice and nearly running Fenrir down. If the kid didn't have such good reflexes, he'd be paste.

"Whoo hoo! This is so much better than dancing with stupid old Ian," she shouted. As if that had anything to do with anything.

Bucky spun her in a circle. She was on her toes like a ballet dancer and landed on a plie. The song was maybe reaching its climax (or maybe that was another ten minutes away), so she turned up the volume and sailed into his waiting arms. For those few seconds before he looked at the dinner table, Bucky could say he was almost having fun. He didn't usually dance like this. When he did, it was at the club and the girl would be grinding against him until he took her somewhere private because dancing was overrated anyway.

He checked the table only because Darcy made him turn and face where Jane and Loki had been sitting. Emphasis on _had been_.

Nothing remained but their coffee mugs, empty or cold with no steam rising. How long ago had they left? This stupid song had to be on repeat. He failed to catch Darcy as she let herself fall backwards. His arms were locked at his sides. She hit the floor with a thud and a yelp. Bucky stepped over her. He could hear voices coming from Jane's bedroom.

"Thanks a lot!" Darcy shouted after him. "I was going to ask if you wanted a tour of my bedroom later, but you can forget that."

"Yeah huh," Bucky said, pressing his ear to the door.

"Why would he want to see your room?" Fenrir asked. "You don't seem like the organized type. I bet it's a hurricane in there."

"I'd tell you exactly what kind of hurricanes happen in my bed, but you're only seven."

"I'm eight!"

"Oh well, _that_ changes everything."

That was the last Bucky heard from them. Not that they stopped talking (they did not) but he had long perfected the art of blocking out distractions and outside noise when he had a target to focus on. Closing his eyes, he listened only for Jane's voice.

"I just don't think it's appropriate," she was saying. He heard no footsteps, so they were probably sitting. For one second, he pictured them on the side of Jane's bed, but then, much to his relief, a chair squeaked. "I'm their teacher. Technically, we should never have even gone to each other's homes."

"Perhaps it's merely my lack of experience with the public school system, but I was under the impression that teachers visited students' homes for conferences all the time."

"Conferences aren't the same as dinner parties or trips to New York."

Bucky's eyes bugged out. Did he hear that correctly? Was this sonovabitch seriously trying to take Jane into the city with him? He had to have heard wrong. Maybe there was still water in his ears from his shower.

"We could refer to it as an educational trip, and then you would be their chaperone."

"Field trips are supposed to be for all the students, not just three of them."

"Also doable. My children are at an advanced level, as you well know."

The chair squeaked again. "If you wanted them to get special treatment, you should've sent them to a private school. I'm not doing this."

He heard Jane walking away and pumped his fist. _'Yeah, Jane! You tell him!'_

"I fear I have not made my intentions clear." More footsteps, heavier than Jane's. "I will be gone for the entirety of their spring vacation, and it was their wish to come along with me rather than stay home with a sitter as they normally would. I would be willing to acquiesce, except as I'm sure you know, my children do have a propensity for mischief. Mixing that with such a large and densely populated city as Manhattan, and it should go without saying I'd prefer they had appropriate supervision."

"I'm not a babysitter, Loki. That's what you have Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg for."

"True, but while they are excellent at keeping the children safe, too often they will bend to their will at the barest hint of a quivering lip. As a matter of fact, you might be the only person other than myself to see through their tricks."

"That sounds perfectly reasonable," Jane said dryly. She moved closer to the door and Bucky started to back away. She stopped just short of opening it.

"Then you'll accept?" Loki asked.

 _'He can't be serious,'_ Bucky thought. The music suddenly grew faster and louder and it might finally be a different song after twenty five years of Happy. He moved all his hair to the other side of his head and covered his exposed ear.

"I didn't say that." Jane was walking again, somewhere to the left. "I get the feeling there's more to this than just wanting an extra pair of eyes."

"Must there be more to it?" Loki's voice, before controlled and emotionless, now leaked exasperation. "Can it not simply be that I want you to come?"

Silence. Total silence from inside and if it wasn't for that god-awful music on the outside, Bucky might've at least known they were still breathing in there.

"That is to say," Loki said robotically. " _We_ want you to come. My children and I. Moreso them, but I would not find your presence bothersome."

 _'Oh God,'_ Bucky rolled his eyes so hard he could see the inside of his skull. This was worse than the time he tried to tell his middle school crush he liked her. Jane must've felt the same way. A giggle arose from over the tuneless dubstep of whatever Top 40 crap Darcy had blasting from the speakers now.

"I fail to see the humor in this," Loki said.

 _'Yeah of course you don't, dumbass.'_

"Of course you don't," said Jane, followed by a sigh. "I'll give it some thought, but I can't promise anything. It really isn't appropriate for us to be this friendly when your kids are in my class."

"Have I perchance enrolled them in military school without realizing it?"

The doorknob twisted. Bucky practically teleported to the center of the room where he crossed his arms and perched on the kitchen counter, looking about as natural as a piece of modern art in a sterile office building. Loki stepped out first, smugness oozing off him. Not a trace of discomfort to be found. Jane had the oddest look on her face Bucky had ever seen. Sort of a cross between disconcertion and confusion, but with a hint of a smile. A _smile_. The fleeting kind that vanished as soon as she looked up, like she wanted to hide it from the world.

"Hey, sorry for leaving you in the lion's den," she said. In the corner Darcy was attempting to teach a rather unenthusiastic Fenrir how to swing dance. "Just had to talk to Loki about something."

"Is this the weirdest PTA meeting you've ever had or what?"

"You have no idea," she said. Then she clapped her hands to get everyone's attention. "Okay, we have ice cream for dessert. Who wants some?"

"ME!" shouted three kids and Darcy. They bounded for the table, Loki already seated and sipping his coffee.

"No more than two scoops each," he said. "And just one for your Jormungandr. Unless by chance the ice cream is-"

"Sugar free. Yup. We're good."

"Aw man," Fenrir moaned. "I hate sugar free."

"Don't be a baby, Fenrir," said Hela.

"Yeah, don't be a baby," said Bucky. "And I get three scoops because I'm an adult."

"That's cheating!"

"Being an adult is cheating?"

At seven on the dot, Loki stood and regretfully informed Jane that it was time they took their leave. The triplets' bedtime was nine o'clock, and it would be at least an hour before he could get them to brush their teeth. One by one, they all hugged Jane goodbye, Hela taking the longest to let go while Fenrir settled for a quick side embrace before walking out the door, his cheeks flaming.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Foster," said Jormungandr.

"Night Uncle Bucky," said Hela. "It was nice to finally meet you."

Bucky waved goodbye as if Loki wasn't giving him a death glare right now. When no one was looking, he shot one right back, and Loki was almost cowed before recovering himself. Their attempts to set each other on fire ended when Darcy bumped Loki on her way out.

"Scuse me, Mr. Grey," she said.

Loki stared at her. "Who the devil are you anyway?"

Darcy laughed and patted him on the arm, then departed. It was just the three of them now.

"Okay, I have to get ready for school tomorrow," Jane said. "I think it's time you guys said goodnight. _Nicely_."

The last part was hissed. Jane's mother used to do that when one of them was in trouble. Had she practiced or was it just genetic?

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Odinson," Bucky said as they shook hands.

"Likewise, Mr. Barnes."

They let go. Bucky's hand ached, but that was fine. Loki wasn't much better. He rubbed his bruised fingers as he followed his kids down the hall. He cast a meaningful glance Jane's way first, but Bucky didn't look to see if she returned it. As soon as he was gone, she let out a breath.

"That went better than I thought," she said, shooting him a look. "For the most part."

"I'm sorry!" Bucky said. "I wasn't trying to make a scene, but I can't stand that guy's face. Makes me want to punch things."

"But why?" she demanded. "I get that he's kind of a pain, but what did he ever do to you?"

 _'Other than clip me?'_ he thought, but for whatever reason, he didn't say it. Maybe he didn't care enough, or maybe he didn't want to upset her. Because even though Loki was an arrogant prick with boundary issues who either didn't know or didn't care when he wasn't wanted… he _had_ made Jane smile.

"I'm just making up for lost time," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "I'm your big brother. It's my responsibility to chase off any lecherous men out to steal your virtue."

"My hero," Jane said flatly. "That would be so sweet if this was the middle ages."

"I know, I know," he said. "It's not that I don't trust you, Jane. I just… we've been apart for so long. Almost feels like I'm going to lose you again."

She swatted his arm. "You won't lose me, you big goof. I'm not going anywhere."

"But you're all grown up and going on dates with boys. It breaks my fragile little heart."

"Oh, cry me a river."

They plopped down on the couch. The whole place felt big and roomy without any kids or annoying neighbors or prissy fuckfaced Richie Rich douchebags crowding it. Not that Bucky had anything against Darcy or Loki's kids.

"So, you do like him," he said. He tried not to dread the answer, but the longer she hesitated to give it, the more his insides churned.

"I'm not really sure." She laced her fingers together in her lap. "We went on one date, but it was kind of awkward. Actually _really_ awkward."

"With a prize like that?" he gasped dramatically. "No."

"Knock it off, I'm serious," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "But I don't know. I went to that party at his house, and I saw him with his kids, and it made me think… maybe there's more to him than he lets on."

Unless 'more' involved more money he could throw at his problems or more luxury cars he could drive past desperate homeless people with or more infuriating smirks he could make while doing all that, Bucky couldn't say he agreed. But he'd made a promise to himself the day it became clear he wasn't going to leave the Foster home any time soon. He would always be a good brother to Jane. He'd always watch out for her, always protect her, and most of all, do everything in his power to make her happy.

"Well, if you're right, he's going to be the luckiest guy in the world," Bucky said, patting her hand. "And if you're wrong, be sure to let me know so I can go beat the shit out of him."

Jane clicked her tongue. "You were being really sweet for a second there."

She went to clean up. Bucky helped her load the dishwasher and wipe down the kitchen table. Then the dishwasher started making an odd sound, and Jane shooed him out of the kitchen. "No one touches my appliances but me," she said.

He found himself looking out her window. Loki hadn't left yet. Seemed he was having trouble pulling Jormungandr away from a befuddled man in a red convertible. From reading his lips, it seemed Jormungandr was asking something about the engine. So the kid was a car enthusiast. Add a few more jaguars to their garage in a few years.

As Loki corralled the kids into the backseat, he happened to glance up. His eyes found Bucky's, like he knew he'd be there. They appraised each other, two wild jungle cats sizing up their next meals. Loki didn't look away and neither did Bucky, even as the seconds ticked by and Jane would come looking for him sooner or later.

He could've gone on forever, but then Loki did the strangest thing. He smiled. And then he got in the front seat and drove out of the parking lot. Bucky's phone buzzed seconds later. A new text message had been sent from an unknown number.

 _'You are a strong one, Mr. Barnes. Not to worry. This will not be our last encounter.'_

 _'How the fuck did this asshole get my number?'_ Bucky looked up to see Jane stick her entire upper body into the back of the dishwasher, screwdriver in hand.

 _'Yeah, sure. Unless Jane gets sick of you and decides to dump you. But I'm sure that won't happen. You're such a catch. ;)'_

Bucky hated smileys. He thought they were passive-aggressive and empty of any real meaning. That made them perfect for right now.

 _'I would thank you for the vote of confidence, but I feel as though you're not being entirely sincere.'_

 _'Good guess, bro. That private school education was good for something after all.'_

 _'Bro, you say? I suppose that is an appropriate address since we may very well become brothers someday.'_

 _'You wish.'_

 _'Perhaps I do.'_

Bucky pocketed his phone. He had nothing else to say. Loki may have won this round, but the war wasn't over. He'd either be dealing with the bastard for only a couple of weeks or for the rest of his life. It was all up to Jane in the end.

Whatever decision she made, Bucky would support her, even if (he suddenly had a terrible taste in his mouth) she chose to be with Loki. Her happiness was the most important thing. As long as he remembered that, he might get through this without giving in and punching Loki's lights out.

You know, maybe.


End file.
